


Sugar and Spice

by xDomino009x



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Comfort Sex, F/F, Fluff and Angst, One Night Stand, One Shot, Unwanted roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xDomino009x/pseuds/xDomino009x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair was not gentle, and Morrigan is not herself. if she was she might have ignored the sudden advances of the Warden and spent the night alone in her solitude. Instead she gives in, and gives the elven rogue a chance to show her the touch of a woman who cares for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar and Spice

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise in advance for any abuse of the English language (I'm an English student as well DX)  
> Also, check out RedStonePrime's work if you're at all into transformers - advertisement for the new fanfictioner ;)  
> It also goes without saying that I don't own Dragon Age :)

Little to no light left the small, most likely cold room that the witch had claimed as her own. It was probably the light from a single candle burning near the end of its wick on the bedside table chasing away what shadows it could. Ceara Mahariel had been pacing franticly, trying to remain as silent as she could, outside for some time now, and pondering whether she dared to even enter after she’d heard the slow, heavy footsteps of the older Warden leaving the room. Surprisingly he had been fully clad in his armour once more, even after doing what he’d had to do.

For a time she had contemplated knocking, but that might be too formal in the current circumstances – they were friends after all weren’t they, did humans still knock if they were friends? – but then if she hadn’t knocked she might have seemed too obnoxious. She groaned inwardly, angered by her own indecision and lack of understanding. Humans still confused her, with all their silly little customs and social codes that she had never had to learn among the Dalish.

Instead of being the bold hero everyone expected her to be and striding straight into the centre of the room, demanding Morrigan agree to speak to her, she called the witch’s name, her voice low, quiet enough that if she _was_ sleeping the apostate shouldn’t hear her.

And then she waited for the woman’s reply.

It came quite simply in the form of a muffled grunt, a grunt that the Dalish elf was unsure whether to take as an invitation to enter or a request to leave. Ceara waited for a moment longer, hesitating a little more than slightly, and then pushed one hand against the heavy wood of the door, opening it slowly with a piercing creak of hinges. If she’d wanted her entrance to be secretive she had failed tragically, not for lack of trying however.

Her steps were slow across the cold stone floor as she padded across to the shadowed form that could only belong to Morrigan, bare feet hardly making an impact as she stealthed across the darkened room. She came to the bed and made to settle herself as discreetly as she could by the huddled figure of the witch. She was bundled under the thin covers and curled into a foetal position, pitiful, helpless. “Are you..?” She placed a hand on the witch’s shoulder, concern seeping deep into her voice as she leant over the younger woman.

“Leave me be, Warden,” Morrigan replied, her voice a hollow whisper. Ceara recoiled slightly as her words washed over her. They were emotionless, cold… They belonged to the woman Morrigan had been when she had first left the Wilds with them, the woman who wanted to be independent and solitary and who built her own campfire for that exclusive reason. Ceara winced, tears pricking her eyes - the Witch of the Wilds was finally broken.

The rogue would have preferred the old venom in the mage’s voice; it would have been preferable to this emptiness. Her finger’s tightened around the cloth and she tugged cautiously, revealing the bare flesh of Morrigan’s back and shoulders. “Not until you -”

“I asked you to -” Morrigan cried, turning herself around and letting the cover fall from her naked body without a care that the Warden had seen her undressed only a few times before, but her voice faltered and the last few words emerged softer, weaker. “Leave me.” The human saw where Ceara was staring, although she did her best to hide her wandering eyes, where the rogue’s sharp eyes had zeroed in on – the dark welts on her upper arms and shoulders, the scratch on the side of her neck. She was thankful the sheet still covered below her hips, else the marred flesh would be just another area for examination.

It was impossible to decide which was worse; the look of shock on the Warden’s face, the woman she had begrudgingly come to call a friend, or the sorrow in her dark green eyes reflected in the stuttering candle light. Morrigan didn’t want her sorrow, she could give the elf a few suggestions where to leave her pitying glances and words.

When she spoke Ceara could hear her own voice cracking, wanted to let her hands sooth the dark imperfections on her pale skin. “Morrigan…”

A finger traced the broken skin along the tendon of her neck, stinging and burning and bringing memories of exactly how she had received it in the first place. Rough hands and forced actions, anger poured into every movement, every thrust of hips and broken promise. Wincing Morrigan pulled away abruptly, scolding herself for the foolish show of weakness in front of the Warden. “Don’t,” Morrigan reproached, her eyes hard and sharp but her voice still devoid of real emotion. She cleared her throat as though that would help and tried once more, reasoning with the elven rogue, and muttered, “Please, do not…”

Ceara was quick to apologise, withdrawing her hand and placing it uneasily in her lap while her eyes followed every mark on the Witch’s body, analysing with the same skill the Keeper had analysed old elven artefacts. “I didn’t think,” she admitted, ashamed at her misjudgement. After searching for the words in her mind Ceara ventured, “Was he..?” and then realised she had no ending to that question suitable to ask. Morrigan filled in the blank.

“He was… not gentle, if that is what you ask.”

Ceara hated herself for making Morrigan put the pieces together herself, making her spell it out like that as though she were speaking to a silly child who didn’t know the meaning of discretion or hurt. “I’m so sorry Morrigan.”

“Do not be,” the mage snapped, her brows drawing close in anger, “Focus your emotions on hatred, not pity.” Ceara stared, unsure how to respond. She had never seem such a defiant glare in the witch’s eyes, nor had she seen her so withdrawn, vulnerable. And she wished to be hated rather than pitied. What she must have endured growing up to believe that was better was beyond the understanding of the elven woman, who’d spent her childhood among a clan who valued her.

Shaking her head gently the rogue looked back at her, “I’ve never hated you Morrigan.” _How could anyone hate someone so naïve?_ “But you’ve never been shown love, right?” Her voice had dropped to a low whisper as she edged closer to the unflinching woman, aware that any move could scare her off even while she feigned confidence. Morrigan, although she claimed more civility than half the members of their party, was and always would be like a wild animal – dangerous, wary, focused almost solely on her own survival.

Morrigan scoffed at the question, breaking the near silence and almost making the young Warden jump. Ceara was pleased the mage was finally recovering some of her attitude though, as much as it grated her nerves at times. “And who would show one such as I?” Morrigan asked bitterly, already casting the world off as shallow and cruel, “You?”

Ceara swallowed thickly, unnerved by the accusatory tone that enveloped Morrigan’s question. Morrigan turned, her face lacking that smug look of victory Ceara had become so accustomed to during their disagreements. With a sigh Ceara ran a hand up her arm to her shoulder, letting it rest there and brushing her pale skin with her thumb.

“If…” she hesitated and then continued more confidently, “If you’d allow it, yes.” Morrigan turned back to her, eyebrow raised in challenge. “And what of Leliana?” Ceara predictably hesitated again, her mouth opening and closing as she rethought her response. The idea of her lover not understanding the gesture she had extended to Morrigan, although the two were on much better terms now than they had been at the beginning of their journey together, was something that made her stomach twist itself into knots.

In the end she simply shook her head, eyes closed for a moment, and replied as truthfully – and hopefully – as she could. “She would understand.” Reducing the distance between the two of them once more Ceara cupped Morrigan’s cheek with her hand, running her thumb a few times across the damp, damaged skin under her eye. Morrigan squinted at the softest touch over the hurt, “Morrigan, let me give you this one thing before tomorrow.”

“I…”

“Trust me.” She leant in slowly, careful not to be sudden. Wild animals scare easily.

*      *      *

Lips pressed against hers, soft, a tender hand caressed her cheek. For a moment Morrigan was more than content to sit in stony silence, stock still like a rabbit caught in sudden torchlight. She didn’t respond with her own kisses for a few moments, relishing the softness of the Warden’s lips as they captured her own. Only when Ceara took the witch’s lower lip between her own, sucking and digging in her teeth did Morrigan make a sound, moaning gently in the darkness and following the elf’s lead.

Ceara chuckled gently as Morrigan attempted to kiss her back. The witch pulled away sharply at the noise, eyes narrowed as though threatening the Warden to fault her. Pursing her lips Ceara held her tongue, dying to laugh at the expression Morrigan gave her now. While she managed to reign in her laughter she couldn’t stop the curl at the corner of her mouth as a smile crept across her face.

The witch may be adept at magic, potions, a few poisons and she knew her history. But when it came to the art of love she was severely lacking education. The rogue sighed, leaning back towards her and seizing her lips once more. She had but one night to teach her all she could.

Morrigan returned instantly this time, getting used to the slide of lips against her own, hearing the elf’s breaths hastily taken between tender kisses. Still following her lead, Morrigan adopted a similar breathing pattern, taking a breath when they parted and breathing out as their lips met again. She gasped and pulled away quickly when the Warden brushed her tongue over her lower lip. Ceara smiled at Morrigan’s shock and held a hand against her cheek, drawing her closer once more.

Instead of being guided to her lips Morrigan found herself led towards the tender, scarred skin of the Warden’s neck, the collar of her night shirt tugged aside to afford her access to more sensitive flesh. “Just follow your instincts. You’re good at that, right Morrigan?” The challenge was set and Morrigan couldn’t back down now. Her lips skimmed over her skin, following the line of a vein barely visible from a distance. She was pleased at the reaction she received, Ceara tilting her head to the side, leaning to give a better angle.

It was the rosewater that Morrigan first tasted, laced across the elven rogues skin after her bath and pleasant on the tip of her tongue as it followed the same lines her lips had previously marked out. Ceara groaned and cried out as Morrigan tested out her new found fangs, pressing her teeth into the Warden’s flesh just below her jawline, hard enough to be felt, not enough to mark.

“Lie back,” Ceara instructed, removing herself from the witch’s immediate presence and guiding her onto her back with one hand. Morrigan complied easier than the Warden had thought she would, lying flat on her back with the sheet still drawn up to her waist. After waiting for confirmation Ceara tugged it away slowly, forcing herself to show no sign of emotion at the bruising that marked the younger woman’s body. Hips and thighs were stained with red and the beginnings of blue shades, welts from too tight fingers trying to control her. Someone like Morrigan would not be controlled easily, not by force.

Morrigan placed a hand under her chin, forcing their eyes to meet when Ceara took too long internally loathing the way she had been treated and brought their lips together almost urgently. The Warden didn’t need to spend her time looking at the imperfections of her skin – she had sustained worse from their enemies’ swords and arrows when they managed to get close enough to her. Ceara didn’t reciprocate. “You don’t like what you see Warden?”

“How could I? How could he…”

“Because he is a man, Warden, and woman are his to use.” Ceara shook her head. While she didn’t enjoy the pleasures any man had given her she wouldn’t say that about all men. There were good men. But, Alistair had been a good man, and he had done this through hatred and anger when this act should be full of nothing but love or at least care. “And now he should be king,” she added absently, as though she didn’t care about the power he would have over others now.

Morrigan turned away from her and sighed, laying her head back against the pillows heavily. “When this is over, stay with your Leliana. She will treat you better than any _man_ could.” Even as she said this Ceara was moving to straddle her waist, hands tugging at the front ties of her own night clothes and letting the garment fall open. Morrigan didn’t marvel at her breasts or take in the sight before her like Leliana had. Instead she pulled the Warden down, bringing their lips together passionately. When Ceara’s tongue sought out her own she didn’t flinch this time.

Her lips parted slowly, tentatively allowing the intimate gesture. Ceara’s hips rolled against Morrigan’s, the witch gasping sharply at both the feeling and the discomfort on her bruised skin. The Warden was forced to ignore her pain, fingers knotting in her raven hair.

Ceara broke away, holding herself over the pale form of the younger woman and smiling down at her. If she ignored the marred skin then with her dark hair down, fallen around her head and shoulders like a black halo, Morrigan looked stunning – more so than Leliana, whose shorter hair and pretty features didn’t allow for the kind of primal beauty Morrigan held. “What are you smirking at Warden?”

“You.” Morrigan gasped as lips closed around a hardened nipple, hot and slick over her flushed skin. She hadn’t even realised she was that aroused at the attention she’d received from the woman on top of her. She hadn’t felt the same pull in her stomach when she had been taken quite forcibly by the senior Warden, or felt her head spinning uncontrollably. Her fingers once again found their way into Ceara’s light hair, pulling gently as the Warden tugged at her breast with lips and teeth. Her tongue was a welcome addition to the sensations.

A cry passed her lips at the first faint touch of Ceara’s fingers between her legs, pressing carefully against her clitoris and down towards her entrance. Morrigan groaned as Ceara released her nipple and moved to pay the other the same attention, running her tongue around it in slow circles before drawing it between her lips with hard sucks. Her hips bucked against the Warden’s hand, slender eleven fingers working steadily over her clit.

“Ceara…” she sighed through her strained breaths. Above her the Warden nodded, mouth still toying with her breasts. Slowly she moved her tongue from trailing hot streaks between the shapeshifter’s breasts and up the side of her neck, along the soft line of her jaw and to her lips, capturing them as her fingers explored deeper. Morrigan groaned, hips bucking to the same rhythm as the elf’s thrusting. Her back arched, eyes fluttering shut. Her lips left Ceara’s as she groaned, her voice cracking as she came around the rogue’s skilled fingers.

They fell down together, Ceara removing herself and wiping her fingers on the covers. Her smile was directed at the witch, her fingers threading through her hair and trailing her jawline. “You’re beautiful…” Morrigan looked up at her through dark eyelashes, eyes half lidded. Slowly she shook her head, hair falling about her in haphazard fashion. In reply Ceara nodded, their non-verbal argument over the witch’s beauty ending as Morrigan let her head fall to the side, refusing to participate further.

Rolling her eyes casually at the act of defeat the Warden ran her fingers down her side, over her hips and slipped them to the inside of her thighs. Warmth met her, as well as an inviting moan from the dark haired beauty beneath her. While Morrigan kept her eyes averted and her head turned Ceara started to make her way teasingly down her body. If they only had this night left she would learn all she could about the mysterious woman before she ran away.

Every noise Morrigan made the rogue mentally noted; the way she sighed as her tongue trailed up the skin of her neck, the way she moaned as teeth scraped over her pebbled nipples, how she squirmed when soft kisses were planted indiscriminately over her sides, stomach and thighs. Finally Ceara admired the hitch in the witch’s breath as her lips landed over her sex, hot breath skating over her already over heated flesh.

For a moment Ceara was sure Morrigan would push her away, recoil from the touch and curl back into a ball waiting for the sun to rise and the Archdemon to call them all to a final conflict. But her fingers running back through the slick flesh were welcomed with a long sigh and parting thighs, her teasing tongue with nails dragging over her scalp – it was her turn to moan.

Her tongue toyed with the same bundle of nerves her fingers had previously, sliding up and round Morrigan’s clit playfully. Morrigan’s bucking hips quickly matched the even pace, the witch holding her gingerly in place with one hand while the other scratched down her shoulder leaving red welts in its wake. “Warden!” The cry was perfect, shattering the stillness that before had been punctuated only with sharp breaths and deep sighs. Once more Ceara pressed her tongue down against her lover’s entrance – she assumed the term would be acceptable for one night – to the same remarkable result.

Chuckling, she returned her attention back to Morrigan’s clit and eased her fingers into her once more, savouring the mage’s deep groan and the tightening of fingers in her hair. Morrigan threw her head back against the pillows, a guttural moan escaping her, as Ceara pulled her clit between pink lips. Again her back arched, breasts exposed and muscles tense. Giving into the temptation Ceara withdrew her fingers, painting wet patterns over Morrigan’s taut nipples as she came.

When the Warden kissed her again it was with glistening lips, the witch’s own taste strong on her tongue. With a sigh Morrigan shifted, rolling onto her side and edging into Ceara’s gentle embrace, lips locked together, tongues dancing, hands roaming tenderly over bare skin. And then they pulled apart, holding each other in a deep silence which Morrigan was the one to break: “You expect the favour returned I suspect.”

The elf shook her head quickly, bringing Morrigan close and resting her chin protectively over her head, one arm draped over her torso and a leg snaking between hers.

“Shouldn’t you return to your bard?” The question was a jest, most probably asked with a smirk and raised eyebrow, but tiredness clouded the humour in Morrigan’s voice. Ceara shook her head again, huddling closer to the heated form in her arms. “She’ll be fine without me for one night.” It wasn’t like they’d admit to this being their last night after all. And with a great deal of luck it wouldn’t be.

Morrigan yawned, moved further into the Warden’s space as discreetly as possible, ashamed to admit her presence was comforting and safe. She smelled of something sweet, like the wild spices she’d used to pick in the wilds, mixed with worn leather and sweat. It was surprising she had never noticed how pleasant this scent was. One hand moved behind the Warden, up to tuck her blond hair behind her ear in a gesture she hoped wasn’t too sentimental for their situation – sex was one thing, love was another entirely – stroking the pointed ridge of her ear as she did. The triumph she felt at making the elven Warden shudder was secret, Ceara didn’t need to know.

But she trailed her hand over that sharp point again and again. Until sleep overcame her.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a pretty random one shot and I don't even remember where the idea came from, but there is actually more coming so... Hope you're looking forward to it XD  
> Morrigan is such a complex character... and I'm sorry for people who love Alistair - I do too - but he was a good plot device ;)  
> And there may be more chapters coming up... :3


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